It was her final paragraph, though, about trying out my favourite book even when she hates reading, that reaffirmed this woman’s fucking perfect. So I penned what’s probably the longest piece of writing in my entire goddamn life.
And then, I attached a question to it, aware of the very real possibility it would chase her away.
Happy December! Almost a new year.
I can feel your passion for 1984 in your writing. It’s the longest letter you’ve sent me (no complaints), and I immediately borrowed the book from the library. Yoursummary and excitement are contagious, so we’ll see how it goes. Noting that…it’s fairly thick, so no promises.
No favourite flower or plant? Hm. Not sure we should keep talking. (Kidding.)
A motorbike sounds cool. I’ve never been on one, though I’d like to one day.
Your favourite colour being red is a surprise. I half expected black.
I had a nightmare last night. It was about wandering the streets alone, and then the ground crumpled from beneath me and I was drowning in icy water. Weird, right? Sometimes I wish I went into dream psychology.
Do you dream? Are they mostly good or bad?
If I don’t get to send you another letter beforehand, Merry Christmas, Cade. I hope it’s as good as you’re able to make it. I promise to be thinking about you.
Aspen.
P.S. Let me think about your photo request. I feel like that would take this to an entirely new place.
Yeah, I asked for a photo because I’m a greedy fucker who’s dying to know.
The final letter was delivered earlier in the week:
Cade,
Maybe I’m insane. Maybe a picture would have been better than what I’m about to offer, but I got thinking about an in-person visit instead. Turns out, the prison has visitation days every Thursday…though you probably know that.
What about if I stop by and we meet for real? I realize it might be taking the pen pal thing too far, especially when I was the one initially nervous by even sending a photo. I’ll understand if you don’t want to meet in real life. Just let me know.
Also, maybe you’re sleeping too deeply and that’s why you’re not recalling your dreams. Or maybe you have nothing good right now to dream about.
And yes, I started 1984. Made it twenty pages in.
Aspen
It’s downright fucking hilarious that she thought I wouldn’t want to meet her. Just her letter has had me on edge all week in anticipation of visitation day. No one comes to see me because the only people who care enough live by a code that dictates never willingly walking into a place they’d be possibly unable to leave. The marks on our wrists that link us would be a signal to the people running this place, and while no one can be arrested on mere suspicion charges, they’d definitely be keeping tabs on my guys afterwards. It’s safer for them to stay away until my time’s up.
It’s appropriate that my budding obsession will become such a monumental moment in my prison experience—my first visitor.
Abandoning the letters for a moment, I pace to the metal bars of my cell. Confinement stopped being annoying years ago. It’s more bothersome than anything because it keeps me from the world. From hopping on my bike and going wherever I want.
My hands wrap around the cool metal, and I squint to see the clock on the wall. After my first week here, time became unimportant. As long as one day eventually merged with the next, I didn’t give a fuck what day a calendar claimed it to be.
With visiting hours approaching, the clock’s arms ticking away makes me feel something for the first time in a long time…
Intrigued.
TWO
ASPEN
“Don’tyou think you’re taking this a bit too far?”
The brush pulls through my hair, fixing the waves into something less chaotic that doesn’t look likeIwas the one who recently rolled from a cot. “Years of work and research has led up to this. No, my thesis will be perfect. Beyond perfect, even if it kills me.”
